


Meet Me On The Battlefield

by Magical_Devil_Alex



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs is Jewish, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, Multi, Murder Husbands, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Torture, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, World War II, duh - Freeform, everyone is a soldier or nurse or something, only the bad one though, some of the characters are nazi's, time to kick nazi ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Devil_Alex/pseuds/Magical_Devil_Alex
Summary: History is known for its many secrets, little pieces that it hides away until someone inevitably starts putting them together.Case and point? Hannibal Lecter and William Graham, two men that fought together in World War II. Most of the world just knows them for being apart of a special operation that was meant to put terror in the hearts of the Nazi's. The Nazi's, however, knew them a little bit differently. They knew Hannibal Lecter and William Graham as the Murder Husbands, the most feared duo ever to walk through German land.Now, history wants to share this little secret with the world. Abigail Hobbs intends to do just that, and that includes telling the entire story, one of love, blood, and perfectly cooked human flesh.AKA, Will and Hannibal meet in WWII, eat Nazi's, adopt a child, and fall in love, not necessarily in that order.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 48
Kudos: 91





	1. "Who wants to become a Ripper?"

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I've recently fallen in love with this show and I read a fic that deals with a very similar topic and I knew I just had to write this. Hope you all enjoy :)

_It's humid today. The rain from last night made the mugginess of the day worse; large, rain like droplets of sweat steadily running down every inch of skin of the six people foolish enough to be outside at that moment. Of all of them, William Graham is least affected by the humidity of the English countryside, having grown up in the swampy bayous of Louisiana. In fact, it makes him more homesick and annoyed than uncomfortable, knowing that instead of being at home with a fresh bowl of jambalaya, he was here, halfway across the world fighting a war that had nothing to do with him._

_At least he was good at it, fighting in war. Having a mind like his was useful in this kind of combat, knowing exactly where the enemy was going to attack and when, knowing their weaknesses and exploiting them ruthlessly. It created the kind of carnage and blood that Will would have never seen in Louisiana, brought out the monster in him that would have otherwise tried to stay hidden. In more ways than one, this war made Will his most honest self, even if he was terrified of it._

_The slow crunch of footsteps over grass seemed to echo in the early morning air, that sound being the only thing the soldier could focus on. Will was sure that there were other sounds around him, animals or even the wind, but he couldn't hear them over those footsteps. He didn't need to look at the man to know who those footsteps belonged to, having memorized them long ago when he was first shipped over to Britain. They belonged to Lieutenant Jack Crawford, the first African-American man to reach such a status in the American Army after FDR desegregated the military. Jack Crawford was a tough man, forged by a world that belittled him for his skin color and didn't give a damn if he lived long enough to see it change. He was also the one that first realized what Will could do could be used as an effective weapon against the enemy, securing win after win against the Nazi's._

_After many minutes of Lieutenant Crawford walking back and forth between the five others patiently waiting for his command, he finally stopped, arms crossed behind his back. "You five have proven to be very useful on and off the battlefield, so useful in fact that the General allowed me to present you all with a very important mission," Lieutenant Crawford began, his dark eyes taking their time to look at each individual in front of him. When he reached Will, Will firmly held his wavering gaze at the Lieutenant's nose, refusing to look into those eyes. A couple months ago, his superiors would have whipped him for that, saying he was disrespectful and lacked discipline, but Lieutenant Crawford hardly seemed to notice. The Lieutenant, like everyone else, was put off from his refusal to look anyone in the eye for more than a moment, but he was glad to ignore it if Will kept giving them wins._

_"I won't lie. This mission has the very likely chance of killing every single one of us in cruel, brutal ways. It will probably scar all of us for life, but I'm willing to understand that this mission could give us an edge against those Nazi bastards, give us a chance to put the fear of God into them the way they've put the fear of the Devil into everyone else. So," Lieutenant Crawford began walking up and down again, his the grass crunching, crunching below his feet._

_"Who wants to become a Ripper?"_

Andrew Eldon nervously tapped his fingers on the wooden table below him, wondering if anyone has ever died from anticipation. He hasn't felt this anxious about anything before in his life, and that was saying something, seeing as his wife had given birth only a month ago. Longest night of his life, no doubt, but there was something more _sereal_ about all of this. 

Andrew looked down at the picture in his other hand for what felt like the millionth time, wishing that he could just pull all of its secrets out without any help. Unfortunately, while pictures were great for looking into the past, they didn't always reveal their purpose, leaving everyone else in the future with a pretty snapshot of something that happened and no real context behind it. That's what Abigail Hobbs was supposed to do; brush away all of the dust behind this particular corner of history and explain what secrets it had to offer. That is, if Abigail Hobbs decides to show up.

"Stop doing that," Reagan Jones, Andrew's colleague at the World War II History Museum in Baltimore, Maryland told him firmly. Reagan did that a lot, attempting to calm down Andrew when he gets too far into his own head. Usually his wife Tola would do that, but she's not here, seeing as she as her own job at a law firm to attend to. 

Andrew stops tapping his fingers, but all of that nervous energy simply transferred itself from his hand to his leg, bouncing under the table. Reagan sighed in defeat, shaking her head. "I don't understand. We've done interviews about this kind of stuff dozens of times before. What's so different now?"

"This is _totally_ different from what we've done before!" Andrew finds himself blurting, feeling slightly offended that Reagan didn't understand the implications of the photograph in his hands. "For other stuff it was simply getting dates that we didn't know or a different perspective of an event that we already know a lot about, this is entire section of history that's virtually _nonexistent_ as far as anyone cares. The only person we know that is alive and can tell us anything about the Ripper's is Abigail Hobbs, and what it she can't give us anything? What if she's too old to remember anything clearly, what if she just decides not to come at all, what if-"

"Andrew." Reagan squeezes his shoulder, trying to make sure he doesn't make himself hyperventilate. He's been obsessed with the Ripper's for quite a while now, a secret group of soldiers from World War II that supposedly put the fear of God into the Nazi Empire. No one knew much about them accept for their names, which were released decades after the war ended. From what little the German government was allowed to publish about them, it was clear that this group of soldiers, which totalled to ten by 1945, was much more than a simple operation to lower the German morale. In fact, if the rumors about them were to be trusted, they were downright war criminals, guilty of offenses that Reagan _really_ didn't want to think about.

Abigail Hobbs, the woman they were supposed to be interviewing in less than five minutes, is the only remaining Ripper out of the ten. She was the youngest of them all, and there was a whole bunch of nasty rumors surrounding her. No one knows the exact details of her joining the Ripper's, seeing as at the time she had been a 16 year old German Jew that was doing her best to survive in Nazi Germany, but the most popular speculation was that she killed a Nazi soldier that killed her mother and father. Orphaned and alone, the Ripper's had taken pity on her and asked her to join them on their campaign, and once the war ended she was adopted by Hannibal Lecter and Alana Bloom, two other Ripper's, and taken to the U.S to live out her life. 

If Reagan was being honest, she thought that rumor was bullshit. She had no proof, but she had a knack for knowing when a story was true or not, especially when it came to history. Just looking at the few photographs of Abigail Hobbs with the Ripper's... something in her gut just told her that there was much more to Abigail's story than a simple revenge plot against the Nazi's, however justified it might be.

Reagan looked down at the photograph Andrew had, pursing her lips together. They had found it a week ago in an old journal, the only journal to survive the Ripper's campaign across Europe. Only a few of the entries were readable, the rest faded from time, but they knew who the journal belonged to, a Ripper named Jimmy Price. It was this that suddenly turned Andrew from interested in the Ripper's to an obsessive freak, especially concerning two of them, thought to be the deadliest and cruelest Ripper's of them all. They even had a special name just for the two of them, given by the terrified Nazi populace and had to live through their reign of terror:

Murder Husbands.

Frankly, to Reagan it sounded like a ridiculous name, but that's what it was, and if what little sources they had were to be believed, no one was closer to the Murder Husbands than Abigail Hobbs.

Reagan sighed to herself, trying to think of something that might calm her friends nerves, but she had no time to do so before the door to the interview room opened, revealing an older woman on the other side. Her hair was completely white and shoulder length, pale skin wrinkled with age and blue eyes that were sharper than the most polished knife. Around her neck was the Star of David, a beautifully simplistic necklace that looked older than time, making Reagan wonder just how long this woman has had it. She had no doubts that this was Abigail Hobbs, the last surviving Ripper in the world. 

Both Andrew and Reagan stood up from their seats, offering their hands to shake and thanking Ms. Hobbs for joining them today. Reagan was pleasantly surprised with how strong her grip was, and hoped her mind was just as strong.

"Please, call me Abigail," Ms. Hobbs told them as they sat back down, her voice just barely tinted with a German accent. "Ms. Hobbs makes me feel old, and well, I don't have enough time in this world to think of myself as old."

Reagan smiled, saying, "Abigail it is then." Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Andrew brought out a video camera, seeing the tension draining from his body. It seemed that having Ms. Hobbs show up was doing wonders for his anxiety already. "I know we talked about it over the phone earlier, but you don't mind that we record this, right? With something like this, we can't leave anything up to chance or a miscommunication."

"Go ahead. Lord knows how many things would be different if just a few miscommunications were corrected." She sounded far off in that moment, like she was reliving a memory. It must have been a bittersweet one, for her smile didn't quite match the sadness of her eyes. Reagan could only imagine what Abigail Hobbs has been through, what she's seen and done. This could almost be cathartic for her, finally getting all of those stories off her chest and into the world. 

Andrew took a deep breath and pressed record on the camera, his chest fluttering with excitement. The Ripper's have always held a deep sense of fascination in him, even as a young child, but this was something he'd never thought would be possible. People have tried to interview Ripper's before in the past, but all of them refused, becoming very private people in their older years. It almost seemed like the world would never hear their story before they all died, that is, until Abigail Hobbs offered to be interviewed only a few days after they discovered the journal and picture. It was like a dream come true for Andrew, and an opportunity he planned on use to its full extent. 

"So, Ms. Ho- Abigail," he corrected himself quickly, feeling a flush come to his cheeks. "This might be an odd question, but why now? So many people have tried to ask about the Ripper's for years now, and every time they were refused. Is there a reason you decided to reach out now?"

Abigail smiled that same bittersweet smile, sending a chill up Andrew's spine. Something told him that Abigail was the most dangerous person in the room, despite being the oldest and arguably the weakest. "That's the simplest question with the simplest answer. We, the Ripper's that is, decided long ago that none of us would reveal anything that happened until there was only one of us around to tell the tale. And, well, I always assumed that one would be myself, seeing as I was over a decade younger than the rest of them. So, here I am, ready to fulfill that promise."

Andrew and Reagan glanced at one another. They were only a minute into the interview and already they had more information on the Ripper's than anyone else had managed to get in half a century. It was clear that Abigail Hobbs' mind was still sharp after all this time, as if it was preparing itself for this very moment. Andrew pushed the picture towards Abigail, his hand suddenly feeling empty without its constant presence.

"Can you talk to us about this picture?" he asked. "We found it in an old journal that belonged to Jimmy Price, one of your fellow Ripper's. We want to know what was happening at the time it was taken."

Abigail delicately picked up the picture, studying it before placing back on the table. She seemed afraid to hold it, like it would suddenly dissolve in her hands if she handled it wrong. "That's Lieutenant Jack Crawford, our leader," she pointed to the one African-American in the picture, a taller, bulky man with a amused but tough look on his face. Abigail continued to point out the different Ripper's, naming them and their purpose. "Jimmy Price and Brian Zuller. They were our science experts, the ones that planted and took apart evidence like no others. Freddie Lounds. She was a bit of a bitch, but if anyone could get a story to take off, it was her. Alana Bloom. She was technically supposed to be a field nurse, but we used her for interrogation more than anything. Margot Verger. She had a lot of influence in Nazi Germany, got us places we would have never been able to get to otherwise. Beverly Katz. You could give her any weapon, any piece of technology, and she'd figure out how to use it." Abigail paused on Katz, gently stroking her face in the picture before moving on. "Myself. I was often the bait, or lure if you will. And Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter..." she let out a short chuckle. "You know, it was really them that gave us Ripper's a name worth remembering. The Nazi's even gave them a title that would forever join them together. Murder Husbands."

Abigail shook her head fondly, tracing her fingers all over the picture. "This picture was taken at the end of the war, when we first found out that the Allies were closing in on Germany. It was a celebration and a mourning. Celebration because the fighting was finally over, mourning because we all knew it meant we would no longer be able to kill Nazi's for our own amusement, that we would no longer be outside the rules of war." She looked up from the picture, her blue eyes swimming with memories. "It's quite the story, how we all got there. Something tells me you two would love to hear it."

Andrew scarcely dared to breathe, forcing himself to remain calm. Something about Abigail Hobbs and the way she talked about the other Ripper's was just... off, like he was going to regret ever asking what happened while they were in Nazi Germany. Suddenly, all of those seemingly ridiculous stories about the what sort of monstrosities the Ripper's did didn't seem so far fetched. In fact, they almost felt too kind.

"We would, Abigail. Where would you start?" Andrew asked, his voice nearly a whisper. 

"At the beginning," Abigail replied back simply. "I intent to tell the whole story, even if I wasn't around for some of it. All of what I'm about to tell you was either told to me by a fellow Ripper or witnessed by myself. There will be love, blood, and quite a bit of perfectly cooked human flesh." Her lips cracked up in a broken smile. 

"So, shall we start? I have a lot to tell." 


	2. "Are you Oracle?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I don't know if Beverley Katz's character is supposed to be Japanese or not, but let's just say for the sake of this fic that she is. Enjoy!

_Will Graham's first night as a Ripper was the same as any other night in the war, if a little brighter with less gunfire going off in the distance. He separated himself from the rest of the group, wanting to interact with them as little as possible, and ate his food silently. The smell and sound of the fire they had going was pleasant, if a bit uncomfortable in the still muggy heat. It reminded Will of the times his father and himself would go camping, nothing but the clothes on their backs, two fishing rods, and a couple of shotguns to keep them going for however long they wanted. It was common knowledge that no one knew the bayous of Louisiana better than the Graham boys, and while they were both odd, they would never pass up an opportunity to make a little change if someone needed a guide._

_Will felt his heart ache for those times, when his father was still around and they could both disappear for however long they wanted. If he had his way as a boy, they would have never left the bayous, lived off the land and the animals there until the day they both died. It was better then eventually having to go back to a civilization that thought him stupid and odd, spit at his feet and called him names for simply being different. They didn't like how he could know more about someone at a glance then even their own spouse, didn't like how their secrets could be aired out with a quick glance in the eye. What they didn't realize is that Will hated it more than any of them, hated suddenly becoming someone he was not and not being able to tell the difference. He hated how their memories and feelings lingered in his head, hated how the nightmares haunted him if he accidentally got too deep in someone's head._

_It wasn't easier now that he was using his oddity on the battlefield. If anything, it was worse; constantly forcing himself to see the blood and feel the hate the commanding officers had for the other side, the desperation to stay alive for one more day and just maybe make it back home. At least this time his oddity had a purpose, a reason to look into everyone's heads and rip apart their weaknesses. The nightmares were worse than ever, but he was useful, well, useful until he broke, and Will Graham_ would _break sooner or later. It might be tomorrow, it might be a year from now, but it would happen._

_Will felt someone sit beside him hesitantly, causing the soldier to immediately hunch over as if to make himself disappear. He pretended the person didn't exist, instead focusing all of his energy on the food in his hands. It didn't stop their eyes from burning a hole into the side of his head, their gaze not angry but intense and thoughtful. It wouldn't take much for Will to slip into their mind, to become-_

_"Are you Oracle?" the person asked, a lady by the sounds of it. It didn't sound like Alana, the only other person besides Jack to give him more that a passing look. Will barely glanced up, seeing a pretty looking Asian lady with dark eyes and hair, her head tilted slightly to the side. Will remembers seeing her before and wondering how a Jap ever got into the American military, especially after that whole bombing thing at a naval base in... was it Hawaii? He heard about it over the radio only a month before he was shipped out, when the president gave a whole speech about it._

_"Yes ma'am," Will said quietly, swiftly averting his gaze back down to his food. His father might not have been able to teach him how to read well, but he definitely made sure that Will knew his manners, no matter if he was speaking to a white politician or a black farmer. He assumed the same rules applied to Japs, but there weren't any in Louisiana like there were blacks, which actually outnumbered the number of whites where Will was from. That was probably why he wasn't too shocked at the idea of a black man like Jack Crawford being a Lieutenant like some of the others, though he wasn't used to hearing a black man speak without the same rich southern accent Will had._

_"Is it true that you can predict the moves of the Nazi's before they even know what they're doing?" the Jap lady questioned, a genuine, non judgemental note in her voice. Will shifted, fiddling with the spoon in his hands. He doesn't know who first gave him the name Oracle, but he knows that he doesn't like it. Will was good enough for him, but he never bothered to correct anyone. Alana was the only one who called him Will, and he wasn't even sure Lieutenant Crawford knew his real name. He supposed that there were worse names to be known by, and Oracle got the point across pretty clearly (once he found out what an oracle actually_ was _) but he still didn't like it._

_"Somethin' like that," Will replied, hoping that his accent wasn't coming off as strong as it used to. He found out very quickly what folks from the north thought about his accent when he was first shipped over, especially since many of them went to school for most of their lives while he struggled to read the most basic of books. This Jap had that same northern accent like them, meaning she probably went to a school too. He thought maybe if he tried to sound more like them, less hillbilly and more proper, then maybe they wouldn't hate him so much. Yet another reason to miss home, where the Cajun tongue of Creole and English flowed as easily as the river in Will's backyard. No one here spoke any Creole or was from the deep south like Will, all of them from somewhere up north, where everything was elegant and everyone was expected to read thick books with little words._

_The Jap lady sighed, studying Will with something he couldn't quite place. "I'm Beverley. Beverley Katz. I'm supposed to be a field nurse, but I seem to get my hands on weapons more than bullet wounds."_

_"Like Alana," Will found himself saying, thinking about how Alana was hesitant to dress an injury but ruthless when it came to interrogating enemy Nazi's. Will has seen her work more than once, seen how efficiently she breaks down their walls and makes them shatter into a million pieces until they're spilling secrets like a waterfall. It was honestly terrifying, especially when Will thought about Alana turning that on_ him _, but she never has. She seemed interested in his mind and the way it worked while others were appalled by it, but she didn't pry, didn't try to get him to open up. She simply stayed next to him, calming the soldier with her presence._

_Beverley chuckled at the comparison. "Alana Bloom? Yeah, I know what you're talking about. Kind of odd how two people who are supposed to be field nurses end up being terrible at their job but great at another, isn't it?" Her tone is light but her words are bitter, like she never wanted to be a field nurse in the first place. Will couldn't blame her for that, knowing that he would be horrible at it himself._

_"Lieutenant Crawford doesn't seem ta care," he says, feeling a blush rise on his cheeks. Beverley hums at his words, and Will looks up just enough to see that her gaze has gone back to the fire, where the rest of the now Ripper's were still talking, probably exchanging childhood stories and laughter. This was probably when she would go back to them, realizing that Will wasn't interesting to talk to for long._

_"Crawford is a man that needs weird people to complete an impossible job," she says distantly. "People like us that are valuable but won't exactly be missed if we die under bad circumstances. I can respect that it a way, knowing that he's doing his best to create a team of misfits that can harden into something else and might be able to survive. I even admire him for it. What better way to scare an empire of Nazi's then to send a group of people that even America hates?" She stood up at that, turning to face Will and offering her hand. "I know you're supposed to be a loner or whatever, but it couldn't hurt to join us, right? If we're all going to die for the same cause, we might as well try to like one another."_

_With a great amount of effort, Will looked Beverley in the eye and held it, finding no lie or hate in her words. With a shaking hand, he grabbed her offered one and tried to ignore the jerk of his muscles from where they touched, allowing her to pull him up from the ground. Beverley smiled at this, not bothered by how Will let go of her as if it burned. They both made their way over to the fire, finding seats next to a soldier Will vaguely remembered being called Z, who was telling a story Will didn't bother to find the context to. Everyone there seemed to be surprised by his presence, but quickly accepted it as Z continued on. Will even saw Alana smile at him softly, happy that he was joining the rest of what would become their family._

_And thus, the Ripper's first night of being a team came to a close._

"The first thing you have to understand about us Ripper's is that we were all outsiders even by outsiders standards. None of us fit in into the society we were born into, not in the way that other people might find empowering, at least. All of the women were doing things that most men at the time would have shit themselves trying to do, but they still thought us weak. Jack Crawford was a black man, and hardly anyone, even those below him in the military, took him seriously. Beverley was a Jap at a time where Japs were being rounded up and sent to camps. Both Jimmy and Brian were more science than muscle, and despite them proving themselves time and time again on the battlefield, they were still belittled for it. Alana was the only expert in a field no one understood, and that intimidated a lot of people. Freddie went to Nazi Germany to report on what was going on there because no one would allow her to back in the States. Margot was trapped with a brother that beat her and threatened to send her to a concentration camp if she didn't produce an heir. I was a Jew trying to hide from the Nazi's. Hannibal was, lets just say, morally grey when it came to ethics. And Will... Will arguably the worst of it all.

"Unlike nearly all the other Ripper's, Will wasn't educated, not in the way we think about being educated. He was sharp as a tack and quicker than a whip, could make a solution out of thin air, but he couldn't read well. He was targeted by a lot of the other soldiers for this before he became a Ripper, and that was just the beginning. You see, Will had this... condition, I guess you could say. He was so empathetic that he could look into the mind of anyone and know everything about them, their secrets, their thoughts and feelings. This made him great for battles, but it also terrified the Hell out of everyone around him. We were all outsiders, but Will was an anomaly even among us." Abigail took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Her right hand had begun rubbing at the left side of her neck, and Andrew couldn't help but be drawn to the motion. When she moved her hand a moment later, he felt his heart skip a beat when he noticed not one, but _two_ scars half way across her throat, like someone had tried to cut it.

He had no idea if Reagan saw it too, but he had no time to look over at her before Abigail continued. "The first mission the Ripper's had was to sneak into France and make their way to an ally in the heart of Paris, right in the middle of Nazi controlled territory. Along the way they did small jobs, sabotage a couple Jew hunts, destroy some barracks, made various weapons like the gases the Nazi's like to use completely useless. Whatever they decided to do, they kept it as under the radar as possible so that they wouldn't draw too much attention. They wanted the Nazi's to know who they were, and eventually even fear them, but they couldn't afford to do too much before they really figured out what their purpose among the Ripper's was.

"From what I know, this is when the original six, Jack, Beverley, Jimmy, Brian, Alana, and Will really got close. They became a family forged by how they didn't fit in anywhere else, and the fact that they enjoyed taking the Nazi's down a couple notches. But soon enough, they reached Paris and their ally, and that's when their first true mission began. You see, there was this really big asshole of a commander in charge of Paris at the time, a Nazi named Abel Gideon. The Ripper's mission was to take down his entire squad and cause chaos in Paris, effectively creating a power vacuum that they had to fill one way or another."

Throughout her talking, a smile began to gradually grow on Abigail's face, that same deadly smile that sent chills up Andrew's spine. Neither Reagan or himself have said anything for a good bit now, simply allowing Abigail to tell the story at her own pace, something they don't normally do. Andrew wondered if Reagan was as terrified of interrupting as he was, and whether or not that was a good thing. 

"Paris was special for many reasons," Abigail told them fondly. "It was the first time the Ripper's first gained Nazi attention, it was the first time their name was spoken, and it was the first time they really put their skills to the test. But there was also another reason Paris was special." She traced her fingers over the picture, stopping on a man with grey hair and wearing what seemed to be a suit.

"It was the first time Will Graham met Hannibal Lecter." 


	3. "Have a nice day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we're finally getting into the juicy part of the story :D

_Getting into Paris was a nightmare._

_Sure, the first couple of little missions the Ripper's did was nerve racking, everyone tense and waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to be caught or for something to go disastrously wrong. They were meticulous with everything they did, maybe even_ too _meticulous, but it likely saved their asses in the long run. Their trust in one another steadily grew over time, and gradually, they became a team. It was almost pleasant, working together like a well oiled machine, knowing what their place was and executing their part in each plan perfectly._

_But this was different. Most of France was just a puppet state for the Nazi's, a place where they claimed control but didn't exactly tighten their fist around, letting the general populace go on as they pleased as long as they followed the rules. Paris... Paris was the total opposite. The Nazi's controlled everything in Paris, and they made sure the rest of the world knew it. Nothing moved in or out of the city without them knowing about it, or without them approving of it. There was no reliable way to sneak in like the Ripper's might have done in another city, not with the threat of on sight execution being a very real problem. They couldn't afford to do it in the shadows of the night, so they had to figure out a different way in, a way that Will would argue was even more dangerous._

_Will took a deep breath as he walked through the train terminal, keeping his gaze fixed on nothing in the distance, giving the illusion that he was walking somewhere with a purpose. Alana was right next to him, her posture ever confident and relaxed, letting her eyes wander aimlessly and beautifully. They were disguised as a newly married couple that wanted to honeymoon in Paris, fresh golden rings on their fingers, bags filled to the brim with clothes for a long stay (or at least, that's what they hoped it looked like. In reality, there was weapons, books, and even a fishing rod in them.) Will was dressed in a simple but stylish outfit that easily hid the hand gun and hunting knife on his person, as well as a pair of black rimmed glasses that acted as a buffer between himself and the rest of the world. Alana had on a lovely blue dress that accented her curvy figure and matching heels that clicked clicked clicked all the way down the terminal, her lovely face presented with just a touch of makeup._

_If you asked Will, he would say that Alana fit in perfectly with the stylish charm of France, her easy smile and smooth, perfectly accented French causing her to blend right in with the locals. Will, on the other had, felt as if he had a red X painted on his face. He wasn't smooth or charming, wasn't so effortlessly graceful like everyone else around him. It didn't help that his French just barely passed that of a five year olds, his Cajun tongue used to the relaxed rhythm of Creole and not this stuffy, confusing mess of a language that Creole originally came from. He learned quickly, but it was still rough, so much so that he and Alana agreed that she would do most of the talking._

_Hopefully, they could keep up these identities they've made for themselves long enough to get out of Paris once their mission was finished, whatever that mission was. Lieutenant Crawford made it clear that none of them, not even himself, would know their mission until they reached an ally in the heart of Paris, mostly because on the off chance that one of them were caught, it wouldn't jeopardize the entirety of the Ripper's. It was cruel, but it was the best way to ensure their success._

_Will wondered how the others were doing so far. They had split up into several groups, himself with Alana, Jimmy with Z, and Beverley and the Lieutenant by themselves. The plan was to go through different train terminals into Paris, each with their own reason for going there, along with the fake ID's Jimmy managed to make. Will couldn't help but feel a little ball of anxiety in his chest for all of them, knowing that at this very moment all but himself and Alana could already be caught an dead and they could do nothing about it._

_Alana grabbed Will's hand and squeezed it gently, not seeming to notice how he flinched at the sudden contact. He knew she was just trying to comfort him in the few ways she could, and he was grateful for that, but skin on skin contact was not the best way to go about it. Touch was another way that he would easily slip into someone's mind, and he had to make the conscious effort to not do so. Then again, Alana's mind was harder to feel than others, her calm demeanor and composed emotions making it harder for Will to grab a hold of. It was yet another reason he liked being around her, knowing that there was less of a chance of becoming someone he's not._

_They finally came to the location described on their tickets just as the conductors were calling for any last minute riders. They both swiftly showed the conductor their tickets, and after a few long moments, he handed them back and smiled, telling them to enjoy the ride. Will could feel his heart beating a million miles an hour, giving what he prayed to be a genuine smile before joining Alana on the train._

_There was only two seats left in the train car, thankfully right next to one another, and Will gladly sat down next to Alana, sighing in relief. They had completed the first part of their infiltration, and even if it was only the easiest part, it was still progress in Will's book. He looked over at Alana, thinking that maybe he would say something witty, when he froze. Alana's hand, which he just realized he never let go of, had tightened around his considerably, the calm emotions he usually felt from her replaced with fear and anticipation._

_"Is somethin' wrong, cher?" Will asked quietly, unable to stop the endearment from leaving his mouth. Alana didn't seem to notice, her gaze staring straight ahead._

_"Right," was all she said in response, and when Will just barely glanced over to his right, he saw what she was so freaked out about._

_Nazi's. Nearly a dozen of them, all throughout the train. Two of them were sitting right across from himself and Alana, talking casually in German. Now that Will was aware of their presence, it was hard to ignore them, their thoughts and feelings pushing against his mind like static, all of their frequencies trying to connect with his. He briefly closed his eyes to get his mind together, blocking out everything except the feeling of Alana's hand squeezing his own._

_"We'll be alright," he told her, hoping he was right. Unless they gave the Nazi's a reason to be suspicious, they would more than likely leave them alone, that is, if there wasn't an asshole among them that decided he wanted to use his power to intimidate them. The hunting knife in Will's pocket suddenly felt ten times heavier, knowing that if they had to fight that they would lose. All of their other weapons were in the bags, and there was no way to get them out before he and Alana would be shot dead. The only option was to blend in and pray nothing bad happened._

_The train took off soon after that, entering the pristine French countryside that seemed unaffected by the war that had changed the very foundation of civilization. It felt like nature should have cared that it was inhabiting Nazi's, that it was nurturing those who were doing their damndest to kill anyone they deemed inferior to their perfect human model, but nature didn't. It simply kept going on as if nothing was the matter._

_You could argue that the train was doing the same thing, transporting Nazi's to a new location so they could spread their fear in whatever way was commanded of them. It didn't care about who its passengers were or what they did when they got there. The train only cared that it was moving, and that someone was operating it._

_The nature and the train should care, Will told himself as he studied the countryside, suddenly angry that it was so beautiful while soldiers fought for their lives, while millions were being killed because of things they couldn't control. Then again, Will always cared too much, always felt too much when it came to the world around him. Perhaps it would be nice to not care about anything, to simply keep moving even if the rest of the world was going to Hell._

_The hour long train ride was pleasant, even if the presence of the Nazi's threatened to consume Will's mind. Something about their minds always screamed out at him, like they were trying to mentally project their beliefs and morals to everyone around them. He didn't like being around them for so long, hearing their hate and feeling their righteous hearts gradually bleed into him no matter how hard he tried to block them out. So many in such a tight area was difficult to deal with, but at least he had Alana with him to somewhat block them out. They still hadn't let go of each others hands, and in fact Will's hand was going numb from how hard she squeezed, but he didn't mind. It was nice to have a lady who didn't mind his oddities around, especially one as lovely as Alana Bloom._

_When the train eventually came to a stop, Will could feel his anxiety turning into excitement. They were in Paris, or at least, they would be once they got off the train and passed the security. Everything was going fine._

_We have no reason to worry, Will told himself as he rises from his seat and lets go of Alana's hand for the first time in over and hour, preparing to take out his and Alana's fake papers to show the Nazi security. Nothing at all-_

_Will turned, harshly bumping into someone and causing everything in his hands to tumble to the ground. "I'm sorry," he immediately blurted out in French, crouching down to pick up the papers he had dropped. Whoever he had bumped into did so as well, though Will barely noticed, too busy scolding himself for being so clumsy in front of Alana. It wasn't until he was standing up with the stranger that Will noticed the Swastika on the others arm and froze, slowly looking up._

_The Nazi was a handsome one, that was for sure. He looked like classic European royalty, high cheekbones and perfectly pale skin, silvery blond hair slicked back without a single hair out of place. Those were all things Will was able to take in with a glance, feeling his cheeks darken at the Nazi's intense gaze that he refused to meet._

_"I believed you dropped these as well," the Nazi told him, though it took Will a moment to process the French in his mind. From behind him, Alana had yet to say a word. Waiting to see if Will needed help, or too terrified to intervene?_

_Will hesitantly grabbed the papers from the Nazi's offered hand, hoping that they weren't trembling like he felt like they were. "Thank you," Will stuttered, keeping his eyes firmly on the Iron Cross on the Nazi's chest. It was polished so perfectly that Will assumed that this particular soldier must take pride in his uniform, keeping it as orderly as possible in order to show his dedication._

_**Wrong** , something in his mind responded, sounding confused but confident in its reply. **Wrong wrong wrong. He isn't who he says he is, he isn't who he says he is, he isn't-**_

_The Nazi was suddenly much closer than he had been only a moment ago, his left arm pressing against Will's right side. He couldn't detect any hostility coming from the other, but he didn't dare breathe, feeling as if this soldier had somehow cocooned them in an environment that only they existed in. The Nazi's hand casually lifted from his side, pressing an object into the pocket inside Will's jacket and dropping it, causing a familiar weight to drag it down._

_His hunting knife._

_Will continued to stay still as the Nazi's hand continued upward as if he hadn't just given back Will a weapon he had dropped on a train full of other Nazi's, only moving his eyes upward to follow the gloved hand. He flinched slightly when that hand gently grasped the rim of his glasses, pushing them up so that they rested on the bridge of his nose instead of hanging on at the tip. The action caused Will to almost forcibly meet the Nazi's eyes, nearly gasping at what he saw, what he_ felt.

_Nothing. Those eyes, as sculpted and elegant as the rest of him, showed nothing except the faintest bit of curiosity. They were the color of dried blood, a color Will thought that this man saw a lot, but not for the reasons one might assume. They captured Will, glued his feet and whatever he could have said in place. For once in his life, he looked into a man and got absolutely nothing in return, like this Nazi was a black hole consuming everything around him._

_"Have a nice day," the Nazi told him, giving the smallest of smiles before walking away, disappearing off the train and into the heart of Paris. Will finally found himself able to unfreeze from whatever spell he had been under, taking in a deep gulp of air. Ignoring Alana's questioning, Will grabbed their bags and practically ran off the train, eager to get out of the stuffy compartment before he suffocated. He's never felt more terrified in his life, never felt more vulnerable and bare, like that Nazi had stripped him naked and skinned him so that his insides were on display for everyone to see._

_"What happened?" Alana demanded, struggling to keep up with Will and his swift pace. "Dammit Will- answer me!" She grabbed his shoulder, making Will tense and just barely slow down._

_"I dropped my knife," Will answered lowly, feeling Alana's confusion only go up more. "He- that Nazi- made sure no one saw it and gave it back to me. I-I don't know Alana, I don't know. I don't know why he didn't do something about it, tell someone, arrest me, shoot me on the spot, but he didn't. And-" Will cut himself off, stopping as they came to the security checkpoint. How was he supposed to describe the feeling that this man had gave him, the complete silence that eclipsed his mind, the simple nothingness that he radiated? It hardly made sense to him, let alone someone who's never experienced the type of oddity Will was capable of._

_Alana sighed as they came closer and close to the checkpoint, sliding her hand into his and softly running her fingers over his palm. He didn't know how to tell her that while her mind used to be a source of comfort and stability, it now felt too crowded and cluttered, too loud compared to that man's silence. It wasn't fair to her, not if it was coming from someone as broken and odd as Will Graham._

_Will did his best to forget about that Nazi for now, but was unable to truly let go of those red eyes, feeling like they were somehow still burning into him even after they were gone._

"So is that what you meant when you said Hannibal was morally grey when it came to ethics?" Reagan asked, hoping she wasn't coming off as rude. Abigail had paused after all, and Reagan had so many questions that she didn't know where to start. She guessed starting with whether or not Hannibal Lecter was actually a Nazi before becoming a Ripper was a good place to start, though she believed that wasn't the whole truth. It wouldn't make sense compared to what little information they did have on Hannibal Lecter, but hey, it was a place to start.

Abigail looked a little taken back by Reagan's question, her head tilting to the side. It caused the older woman's hair to shift to the side, which on its own wasn't that special, but it's what that shift revealed that really got Reagan's attention.

Or, what it didn't reveal. There was nothing there.

As it, where Abigail Hobbs' ear should have been, there was nothing but a bit of scar tissue. 

"Are you asking if Hannibal Lecter was a Nazi?" Abigail asked, her voice having the faintest bit of humor in it. "I'm pretty sure he and all of the other Ripper's just rolled in their graves, but no, he was not. I'll get to the details about that later- but as for Hannibal's morally grey ethics..." she thumbed her necklace. "Well, I guess we'll get to that soon as well. Don't say I didn't warn you once you hear what exactly he, and by extension the rest of the Ripper's, did. It's not the most... _noble_ of practices.

"Now, where were we? Ah yes, the Ripper's just got into Paris and now must get to their ally. Bedelia Du Maurier was always one of my favorite people to talk about, even if I never met her personally. Always some kind of mystery when it comes to her." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment.
> 
> ~Magical_Devil_Alex


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